The Assassin's Bounty
by Celtic Knot
Summary: [Mass Effect/The Mandalorian] A case of mistaken identity puts Thane Krios on the Mandalorian's radar. With the Hutts offering a hefty bounty, Mando jumps at the opportunity. What should have been a simple delivery, however, turns out to be anything but.
1. What Goes Up

**The Assassin's Bounty**

_Chapter One: What Goes Up_

_Amonkira, Lord of Hunters…_

Thane watched as the ship, whose transponders declared her the _Razor Crest, _settled gently, if a bit unsteadily, to the canyon floor. Exactly where his contact had indicated. He had always been able to count on good information from the Bounty Hunters' Guild, and this time, they'd been especially eager to help.

_Grant that my hands be steady…_

It had taken him much longer than usual to even find his target this time. He had no name, no description, and no dossier to go on; only gender, age, and a tracking fob to point the way. It was like flying blind. Especially when the fob had led him to an armored Mandalorian who never removed his helmet. He'd had to take extra care to make certain he had the right man.

_My aim be true…_

But there was no one else here, in this remote little hideout several kilometers removed from civilization. And the tracking fob indicated beyond a doubt that his target was aboard that ship.

_And my feet swift._

The boarding ramp lowered, and the Mandalorian disembarked, scanning his surroundings to make certain he was alone. Thane let out a long, steady breath as he scoped in on his target. The crosshairs settled on the polished gunmetal-gray helmet, his red targeting laser barely visible in the glare of the setting sun.

_And should the worst come to pass…_

He squeezed the trigger. The target dropped.

_Grant me—_

Thane stared in shock and dismay as the Mandalorian slowly sat up, holding his hand to his head as though he were dizzy. His helmet was scorched and blackened, confirming Thane's unerring aim, but barely even dented. Thane might as well have thrown a rock, for all the damage he'd done.

He swore under his breath. Beskar. His employer hadn't said anything about the target wearing beskar steel armor. This forced him to change his tactics considerably—even his sniper rifle wouldn't penetrate it except at point-blank range. A handgun would be all but useless against it.

It was to be hand-to-hand, then. He hadn't wanted to take on a fully armored Mandalorian at close range, but it seemed there was no other way to fulfill his contract. Well, then, so be it.

As the Mandalorian staggered unsteadily to his feet, Thane slung his rifle on his back and climbed silently down from his hiding place. He circled around to the other side of the ship, using the long shadows of early evening for cover and staying out of his quarry's line of sight. Planning his attack. Taking stock of the Mandalorian's armament: a pulse rifle, devastating at range and a sturdy melee weapon up close; a hand blaster, uncomplicated but effective; a vibroblade and a handful of timed charges.

If he was fast enough, he wouldn't have to worry about any of it. But if it came to a fight, he'd have to watch out for that knife. Staying inside the range of the guns would be easy, but a vibroblade like that could eviscerate him before he even felt the cut.

Slowly, silently, he slid his own vibroblade from its sheath. The Mandalorian's armor had a wide gap between helmet and cuirass, leaving his neck relatively unprotected. Thane crept forward, blade in hand, ready to—

A clatter and a squeak from inside the ship. The Mandalorian started, turned, and held up a hand to hold someone back. "No," he said sharply. "Stay there!"

Thane's jaw clenched. A witness would complicate matters.

He had to draw the Mandalorian away from the open ramp. Focusing on a spot far enough to the left to be out of view of whoever was inside, Thane reached out with his limited command of the Force and started a handful of rocks tumbling down the slope.

As he'd hoped, the sound and motion caught his target's attention. "Stay there, understand?" the Mandalorian repeated, and started slowly toward the disturbance.

Thane sheathed his blade and followed, silent as a shadow. And when he was certain the person remaining on the ship couldn't see them, he struck.

He sprang forward to close the distance between them. The Mandalorian tried to turn around at the noise. Thane checked his shoulder, collapsed his knee with a kick, and seized the front and back of his helmet.

But before he could snap the Mandalorian's neck, an armored elbow caught him in the stomach, winding him and driving him back a step. The Mandalorian spun around, taking advantage of the space to draw his blaster. Thane recovered just in time to dodge his first shot. The second grazed his shoulder. Before the Mandalorian could fire again, Thane used the Force to wrench the weapon from his hand.

He pressed his attack, aiming a flurry of blows at the weak spots in the armor. Keeping his opponent off-balance. Searching for his opening.

The Mandalorian fought back capably, blocking some hits and landing a few of his own. But he was giving ground, slowly but surely. When he hit the canyon wall, he'd be finished.

Clearly, he knew it, too. The Mandalorian fought harder with every step, and finally landed a powerful uppercut under Thane's chin. The impact of the armored gauntlet snapped his head back so hard he saw stars, and he fell. But he retained enough presence of mind to pull the Mandalorian down with him, flipping him over his head and using their combined momentum to land on top. Pinning the Mandalorian to the ground with a knee on his chest, Thane drew his vibroblade again and prepared to cut his target's throat.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you, assassin," the Mandalorian said calmly.

Thane froze, blinked, and looked down. The Mandalorian had gotten hold of Thane's blaster in the scuffle, and now pressed the muzzle into his stomach.

"Well, then, it would seem we have reached an impasse," Thane replied.

"I don't think so." The Mandalorian's finger rested casually on the blaster's trigger. "Way I see it, you got two options. Lay one finger on the kid, and I blast you into oblivion. Or leave him alone, and I just bring you in for the bounty. The Hutts have a pretty impressive price on your head—Thane Krios."

Thane narrowed his eyes. "Kid?" he demanded. "My contract is for you, Mandalorian, not a child."

"You sure about that?"

At that moment, Thane's tracking fob began to beep insistently, rising in pitch, as it should have been doing throughout the fight if the Mandalorian was indeed his target. He looked to the side—and was startled to find an infant standing there, reaching his tiny arms toward the Mandalorian and gurgling worriedly.

All at once, the pieces fell into place. The child was of the same mysterious species as the famed Jedi Master Yoda: an extraordinarily long-lived people, said to have a lifespan of a thousand years or more.

_("Your target is a male, fifty years of age. That is all the information I have to give you." My employer produces a tracking fob, like those used by the Guild of bounty hunters. "This will lead you to him.")_

Slowly, Thane sheathed his blade and stood, backing away from the child and deliberately keeping his hands where the Mandalorian could see them. "Had I known the target was a child, I would not have taken the contract," he said. "I will not harm him."

The Mandalorian climbed to his feet with a grunt, keeping the blaster trained on Thane. "I know your reputation, Krios. You never give up on a contract. Ever."

"You do not know me as well as you think, if you believe I would kill an innocent child," Thane countered.

The Mandalorian seemed to consider that for a moment. "Why should I believe you?" he said finally.

Thane spread his hands. "I'm afraid all I have to offer is my word of honor."

"Honor? From the guy who jumped me from behind?" the Mandalorian snorted. He thumbed the setting on the blaster. "I don't think so."

He fired.

The Mandalorian let out a sigh of relief as Krios fell. Why an assassin even had a stun setting on his blaster was a mystery, but he wasn't about to question it. He'd never hunted a Drell before, though, and didn't know how long it would take him to wake up. Not eager to go another round—he'd managed to get in a lucky shot and still only managed to fight him to a draw—he cuffed Krios's hands behind his back, just to be safe.

He couldn't believe his luck. The bounty the Hutts were offering would be enough to repair the _Razor Crest _to new condition three times over. That Krios had evaded capture for eight years with that kind of price on his head spoke volumes about his skills in stealth and caution—and the number of dead bounty hunters he'd left in his wake were proof of his martial prowess.

If circumstances had been different, he might have made a good Mandalorian.

But it was no use speculating about that, of course. It was time to get him back to the _Razor Crest _and into carbon freeze.

The Mandalorian bent, slipped his hands under Krios's arms, and tried to lift him—and nearly fell on his ass. Damn, he was heavier than he looked. He thought about going back to the ship and getting the repulsor sled, but when he looked up, the kid was staring at him. He had that look on his little face, doing that thing with his ears, tht the Mandalorian could swear was his version of laughter.

"You think this is funny, huh? I'd like to see you carry him."

He paused as he flashed back to the Mudhorn, floating a meter off the ground. Kid probably could carry him.

Well, he definitely wasn't getting the sled now. It was the principle of the thing.

Besides, now that he knew what to expect, it wasn't really that hard. A little bit of a workout, maybe, but nothing he couldn't handle.

The child toddled slowly after them, his little brow furrowed with what looked like worry. The Mandalorian snorted softly in amusement. Poor innocent kid was actually concerned about the assassin who'd come to kill him. It might have been cute if it wasn't so _(terrifying) _dangerous.

By the time he'd dragged Krios up the ramp and back into the cargo hold, the Mandalorian had definitely broken a sweat, and was decidedly relieved to set down his burden. He propped the unconscious Drell against the bulkhead and set about activating the carbon freeze chamber.

Ever curious. The child poked at Krios's face, as if trying to wake him. The Mandalorian scooped him up before he could climb into Krios's lap. "No," he said firmly. "Prisoner. Bounty. Stay away. Understand?" He set the child downon the other side of the hold. "Stay here."

The child cooed at him, and he turned back to the carbon freeze chamber. Frowning, he punched in the activation code again. The system whirred, whined, clicked, and finally died with a hiss and a gout of foul-smelling carbonite vapor. The Mandalorian backed away, coughing and cursing. Of course. Of course the damn carbon freeze was broken, just when he'd spent his last credits on engine parts. Just when he needed a good, big bounty to get back on his feet again.

Just when he'd picked up one of the galaxy's most dangerous assassins.

He couldn't believe his luck.

The Mandalorian tore open a panel and managed to cut off the gas flow before the air in the hold became toxic. He should probably get the kid out of here until it cleared completely, though. Then he'd figure out another way to secure Krios for the trip.

The easiest way would be to keep stunning him, but he dismissed that idea immediately. The Hutts didn't take kindly to brain-damaged prisoners. They weren't as interesting to—

Well, it wasn't a bounty hunter's business what happened to the package after delivery, now, was it?

The irony was not lost on him.

"Don't give me that look," he muttered to the child. "Come on, let's get you outta here before he wakes up."


	2. What Meets the Eye

_Chapter Two: What Meets the Eye_

Consciousness returned with the force of a blaster bolt.

Thane's eyes snapped open, a wave of instinctual panic washing over him. He couldn't breathe. A fit of coughing overtook him, doubling him over, tearing at his insides like a clawed beast. He tasted blood and carbonite as his diseased lungs spasmed, fighting for air. His heart pounded and raced as though it would burst free of his chest. His head threatened to split open; his vision tunneled and grayed. His entire body began to go numb.

But finally, just when he thought he was going to black out again, the fit passed, leaving him panting and dizzy and utterly spent. He gritted his teeth as he caught his breath. His Kepral's Syndrome was advancing by the day—it would not be long now before he was incapacitated entirely.

He was dying.

Not that it would matter for long, if the Mandalorian turned him over to the Hutts.

Forcing such thoughts from his mind, Thane took a few moments to assess his situation. His hands were cuffed behind his back, then secured to a pipe on the wall near the floor. He was in a warehouse of some sort—no, that hum was the sound of engines. A cargo hold, then, on a ship with a wheezing hyperdrive. And poor environmental controls: the metal bulkhead at his back seemed to leach all the warmth from his body. His hands were numb from the cold.

He couldn't be certain how long he'd been unconscious, but judging by the stiffness of his joints, it had evidently been some hours at least. The blaster burn on his upper arm ached fiercely, but no longer bled. His head still spun a little, blurring his vision and making it difficult to think.

But he had to focus. This ship had to be the Madalorian's _Razor Crest._ He'd long ago memorized the vessel's layout and capabilities, and wondered briefly—but gratefully—why he hadn't been frozen in carbonite for the journey, as had become standard procedure for bounty hunters since the fall of the Empire. A glance around the hold quickly answered that question: a panel near the carbon freeze chamber lay open, torn and charred wires spilling out like viscera. A spanner lying discarded below a fresh scuff on the far wall suggested a repair attempt given up in disgust.

_Thank Arashu for small favors._

That malfunction had given him a chance, and Thane was not about to waste it. All he had to do was free his hands, and—

Someone was coming.

Thane closed his eyes and let his head loll. If he let the Mandalorian think he hadn't yet woken, he might learn something useful.

But the footsteps that approached weren't the long, heavy stride of the bounty hunter. They were the pitter-patter of tiny feet, accompanied by a Force presence that Thane didn't even have to try to detect. It was impossible to miss, flooding his awareness like sunlight.

The child.

Thane remained still, certain the Mandalorian wouldn't be far behind. He seemed to care about the child; surely he was aware of where the boy was. Thane reached out with the Force, trying to locate him, but the child's presence was blinding. He could sense nothing else.

There was no other sound, though, no indication that the Mandalorian was coming. Alone, the child approached slowly, cooing, not a trace of fear in his voice. His presence was overwhelming, a pure innocence that brought a lump to Thane's throat. It brought memories rushing back of Kolyat, of the first time he'd laid eyes on his son.

_It has been a long and difficult labor. Irikah is exhausted, pale, rapidly weakening and I am beginning to fear for her life. It is only for her sake that I find the strength to remain outwardly calm. Within, I am frantic with worry._

_But the nurses are calm, the doctor still smiling and offering gentle encouragement. I can do nothing but clutch my wife's hand and pray to Arashu she will make it through._

_The doctor tells Irikah to push one more time. She gathers what seems the last of her strength and bears down, squeezing my hand until I think the bones might break, and lets out a scream that threatens to stop my heart. But then the baby slides free into the doctor's waiting hands, and Irikah collapses back onto the bed, sobbing with relief. I stroke her cheek, whispering soothing words into her ear._

"_Sere Krios?"_

_I turn, and a nurse is standing there, a tiny bundle in her arms. My mind is spinning, and for a moment I don't recognize it._

_She holds the bundle out to me. "It's a boy."_

_She places the bundle in my arms, and time seems to slow down as I stare at the tiny little face peeking out of the blankets. My son. My _son.

_He is beautiful. His big, dark eyes gaze up at me with an unsettling wisdom that belies his age. His mouth forms a round O of curiosity as he takes in this huge, bright, cold world he's been brought into. More than that, his presence in the Force is just… pure. Pure innocence, pure trust. And suddenly, I am overwhelmed with a determination to protect that innocence with all that I am, for as long as I am able._

He was shaken from his memories by the child poking at his face and burbling insistently. Giving up his charade, Thane opened his eyes and raised his head.

The child cooed at him, smiling, his huge ears perking up. It seemed he hadn't been fooled, not for an instant. Or perhaps he was only happy to have elicited some reaction—he was only a baby, after all.

"You'd better go, _ashi," _Thane said gently, the endearment slipping from his mouth before he could think about it. "I suspect the Mandalorian won't be pleased to find you down here."

But the child didn't listen, or didn't understand. His eyes fell on the wound on Thane's arm, blackened and bloody, and his smile faded. He reached up and poked at it with one tiny finger.

Thane hissed in pain and pulled back as far as his bonds would allow. "Please don't do that," he ground out.

The child's ears drooped a little, and he toddled forward, reaching out toward Thane's arms again. With nowhere to go, Thane braced himself. "I said don't—"

But the child didn't touch him. His tiny hand hovered just above the wound, and his eyes drifted closed.

And the pain began to fade.

Thane could only stare in amazement. The child was using what had to be an instinctive command of the Force to heal him. He hadn't even known the Force could be used in such a way at all, let alone by one so young, and untrained.

"I told you to leave him alone."

Thane looked up as the Mandalorian strode across the cargo bay, scooped up the child, and deposited him in what looked like a storage locker converted into a tiny bedroom, keying to door controls with decidedly more force than necessary. He said nothing, but instead took the opportunity to study his captor.

Though the Mandalorian's voice had betrayed no emotion as he'd spoken to the child, his every movement radiated anger. And the longer Thane watched him, the clearer it became that it was not an anger born of hatred, nor of indignation at having been attacked. It was rather an anger born of fear—fear for the child's safety.

Once he'd secured the child, the Mandalorian looked over at Thane. "You're awake. That's good," he said flatly. "We're arriving at Nar Shaddaa in a few minutes, and I didn't want to have to drag you again." Then he turned on his heel and disappeared up the ladder into the cockpit.

So the Mandalorian was making good on his threat, then, and turning him over to the Hutts. While he remained grateful he wasn't frozen in carbonite, the thought of being paraded like chattel through the streets of the Smuggler's Moon did not appeal in the slightest. He needed to find a way out of his bindings. Once free, it would be a relatively simple matter to incapacitate the Mandalorian, commandeer the ship, and retreat back to Tatooine.

It would probably be easier, he reflected, to simply kill the Mandalorian. He could certainly make use of a ship like this, even in its current state of disrepair. But the child changed all that. He clearly had a bond of some kind with the Mandalorian, and Thane would not deprive him of what seemed to be the only parent he had.

He knew exactly what a loss like that could do to a child. His memory flashed once more to Kolyat, this time to cold, hard eyes glaring up at him in accusation. _Why weren't you there?_

It took an effort to set the insistent memory aside.

Thane looked around the cargo hold for something he could use to pick the locks on his cuffs. Droid parts, repair tools, anything. Eyes lighting on the gutted carbon freeze chamber, he spotted a piece of wire that should be thin enough but sturdy enough to do the job. He let his eyes drift halfway closed, reached out with the Force, and pulled it to him.

But in his imprecise grasp, several larger pieces came with it, scraping along the bay floor with a resounding screech. Thane stopped, his pulse thundering in his ears as he listened for the Mandalorian's return.

But no sound came from above.

Redoubling his concentration, Thane picked up the entire pile of scrap and floated it noiselessly—but far from effortlessly—to within reach of his bound hands. He set it down as quietly as he could, extracted the wire he wanted from the surrounding debris, and in moments had his right hand free.

The _Razor Crest _juddered out of hyperspace as he turned to free his left. Time was of the essence. It would not be long now before they made planetfall and the Mandalorian came to collect him.

But despite the urgency of his predicament, something gave him pause. The blaster burn on his left arm… was gone. Completely. Not even a scar remained. If not for the charred hole in his sleeve and the dried blood crusted nearly to his elbow, he might have thought he'd imagined the wound entirely.

Thane quickly picked the second lock and stood, joints and muscles complaining from cold and lack of circulation. He glanced back at the door behind which the mysteriously powerful child lay, and allowed himself a single moment of awestruck wonder. Then he gritted his teeth, turned toward the ladder, and prepared to storm the cockpit.


	3. What Goes Around

_Chapter 3: What Goes Around_

"New Vertica Control, this is _Razor Crest, _requesting clearance to land."

Silence on the channel. There was always a short delay while the control tower confirmed an incoming ship's registry, but it soon stretched to a suspicious length. The Mandalorian confirmed his systems were working, and was about to repeat his transmission when the speaker finally crackled to life. _"Cargo and destination?" _a voice asked in bored Huttese.

He snorted in response to the controller's question. "My cargo is none of your business. And mine is with Madura the Hutt. It'll be your head if you make me late to meet her."

It wasn't just Madura's wrath he feared. With not one, but two high-value targets in his possession, he felt like he had a giant glowing bullseye painted on his back. Nar Shaddaa was the last place the kid belonged, and the last place a hunter wanted by the Guild needed to be. But if he was going to collect the bounty for the assassin, he had no other choice. He'd just have to get in and out quick.

"_Transmitting landing coordinates," _the controller all but squeaked.

Much better.

But no sooner had he begun their descent, than he heard a faint sound behind him. Something brushed his hip, and in the blink of an eye, he found his own vibroblade at his throat. "Turn this vessel around," a gravelly voice said calmly. "I do not wish to fight you again."

The Mandalorian froze. His mind raced, searching for a way to turn this situation to his advantage. How the hell had the assassin gotten free? And now that he was, why wasn't the Mandalorian dead yet? "You're really getting to be a pain in my ass, Krios," he bit out. "If you're gonna kill me, just do it."

"I will if I must," Krios growled. "Do not—"

Before he could finish, the _Razor Crest_'s proximity alarms blared and the ship shuddered violently. The vibroblade disappeared, Krios's quick reflexes probably the only thing that kept it from slitting the Mandalorian's throat. Hey, he'd take any small bit of luck he could get.

Seizing the controls, the Mandalorian wrenched the ship around in an evasive pattern. "Hold that thought. We're under attack."

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Krios clutch the copilot's chair for support as the ship's inertial dampeners struggled to keep up with the maneuvers. He gritted his teeth, picturing the kid rattling around in his little closet. Hopefully, he wouldn't get too badly hurt—but even so, a few bumps and bruises were preferable to being blown to smithereens.

"_Still playing hard to get, eh, Mando?" _came a voice over the comm. _"Your ship's limping. Hand over the bounty, and maybe I won't blast you out of the sky."_

"Shryna Ilii," the Mandalorian replied. "Been a while." He grunted as the _Crest _shook under another barrage. "Which bounty are you talking about?" Damn it, why weren't the weapons charging?

"_The only one that matters," _she growled. _"Warm or cold, Mando. It's up to you."_

"Your deflector shields are only operating at fifteen percent, Mandalorian," said Krios. The Mandalorian risked a glance back at him, and found him strapped in, flicking switches and studying readouts. "Rerouting power from non-critical systems."

There wasn't time to question his attempt to help, but he clearly had a different strategy in mind. "Route to weapons, not shields!" the Mandalorian snapped as he nosed the ship into a stomach-twisting dive. More alarms sounded, and the console lit up with red indicators.

"We cannot take another hit."

"We won't." The Mandalorian leveled the ship out and then threw the engines into reverse. They screeched, something made a loud _bang, _and one sputtered out entirely. The _Razor Crest _spun wildly, and by the time the Mandalorian wrestled it back under control, Shryna had brought her ship around to face them head-on. "I need weapons _now, _Krios!"

"Charging. Fire!"

The Mandalorian jammed his thumb down on the trigger, and the blaster cannons roared to life. An unrelenting barrage drilled through Shryna's deflectors, and then her ship bloomed into a ball of silent flame.

But they weren't out of danger yet. With one engine down and the other wheezing and gasping, the Mandalorian had to fight with his instruments just to control their descent planetward. "Now would be a good time for shields, Krios," he ground out. "This is gonna get a little rough."

"Acknowledged. Deflector shields at thirteen percent—though I'm not certain how long they'll hold."

"That should get us through reentry, at least," the Mandalorian replied. "Theoretically."

"We shall be testing that theory shortly," said Krios. "Fifteen seconds to atmospheric interface… ten seconds… five, four, three, two, one, contact."

The _Razor Crest _began to shudder and groan as it descended into the atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa. Forced into a barely controlled ballistic trajectory, they overshot their designated landing area by hundreds of kilometers, screaming through the sky like a comet. Flames licked at the shields as the hull temperature crept slowly upward.

It took every ounce of the Mandalorian's attention just to keep the ship from tumbling into freefall. But they needed a place to set down, and soon. "Krios, see if you can find us a landing zone!"

"Scanning," Krios replied.

They continued to lose altitude at an alarming rate. The Mandalorian swore under his breath as he wrenched the ship around skyscrapers and between towers, sending city traffic scattering. "Any time now," he growled.

A second later, the copilot's console beeped. "Landing zone located!" Krios called out. "Hard to port, on my mark!"

"Not gonna happen!" the Mandalorian snapped. "It's all I can do to keep us in a straight—"

"_Mark!"_

With a curse, the Mandalorian kicked the maneuvering thrusters to maximum, engaged secondary repulsors, and slammed the yoke to the left. The ship swung into a wide turn—too wide, clipping a crumbling tower and sending it collapsing into the layers of city below. Metal screeched, the second engine blew out with a rattling cough, and then the _Razor Crest _touched down, skidding across a disused landing pad and shuddering to a halt.

Something hissed. The cockpit filled with the acrid reek of smoke. But they were alive.

Rather than let himself relax, though, the Mandalorian stood, turned, and trained his blaster on Krios. "I suppose you want me to thank you," he said.

Krios held up his hands and met his gaze evenly. "Not at all. I merely picked my battle."

"Oh, yeah? What do you mean by that?"

"It was in my best interest not to allow this ship to be destroyed," Krios said drily. "I would much rather fight you, if necessary, than the vacuum of space."

The Mandalorian snorted and lowered his blaster. "You got a point. At least I'll let you put up a fair fight."

Krios quirked his brow ridge at that, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "A bold assumption, that I would fight fairly."

"Yeah, you did jump me from behind—after sniping from a distance didn't work." The Mandalorian shook his head. He was actually starting to like this guy. Something about him just seemed… trustworthy. Genuine.

He'd met his share of assassins before. Most of them were a lot like Fennec Shand—prideful, arrogant, superior assholes who'd just as soon lie as breathe. Shand would have let the _Razor Crest _be blown to pieces, and herself with it, before she even thought about helping him. Krios seemed to be cut from a different cloth.

The Mandalorian scowled to himself. _He's just a bounty. You don't befriend your own damn prisoner._

But what was he going to do, stun him again and drag him around Nar Shaddaa on foot? Tie him back up on the _Razor Crest _and leave him to the vrblthers while he scavenged for parts? Either option was just asking for trouble. Best to let Krios think he trusted him, for now. Having someone by his side who was good in a fight would be useful around here. Then as soon as the _Crest _was flying again, the Mandalorian could knock him back out long enough to get him to Madura the Hutt for the bounty.

If Madura didn't hunt them down first.

"So, where did we end up?" the Mandalorian asked.

Krios glanced at the console. "The Undercity, several levels below the Red Light Sector."

"Rough neighborhood." The Mandalorian pushed past Krios and started down the ladder to the cargo hold. "I put your weapons in the arms locker. You'll need 'em. I'm gonna check on the kid."

* * *

Alone in the dark, the child shivered, clutching his blanket. The loud noises had stopped, and so had the bouncing and shaking. But now it was too quiet, and his head hurt where he'd bumped it, and he was frightened.

At least he wasn't really alone. The armored man and the hurting man were still nearby. He knew they were coming closer before he heard their footsteps. And when the door slid open to reveal the armored man's familiar not-a-face, the child blinked in the sudden light and reached for him, eager for the comfort of those metal-covered arms.

The armored man scooped him up and held him at arm's length, looking him up and down. "You okay, ya little womp rat?" he asked.

The child didn't entirely understand, but the affectionate tone of the armored man's presence made him happy. He smiled and burbled.

The hurting man came closer. He felt worried. "It will be difficult to keep him safe, Mandalorian," he said. "There are many dangers out there."

"Well, I'm not about to leave him here alone," the armored man snapped. He set the child down on the floor.

The hurting man frowned down at him. "Nor was I suggesting we do so. Only that bringing him with us may not be much safer."

The child started from the hurting man to the armored man and back. The hurting man frightened him a little, because of the way he felt around the armored man. But also because he felt clearer, somehow, than the armored man, easier to sense. The child didn't know what that meant, either. But he did know the hurting man wouldn't hurt him, and more than the armored man would. It was confusing.

"You think I don't know that?" said the armored man. "It's not like we have another choice. Come on, let's get out of here before it gets dark and all the real nasties come out." He looked down at the child. "You, too. Stay close. _Don't wander off."_

He sounded angry, but he didn't feel angry. He felt worried, too, just like the hurting man. The child knew the armored man felt less worried when he was nearby, though, so he followed as they left the ship.

The armored man and the hurting man were both very tall, and walked very fast. The child struggled to keep up, but soon began to fall behind. They were going to leave him! He stopped, whimpering. He'd be lost out here all alone.

Both men turned, and the child cooed hopefully. Maybe they weren't going to leave him, after all?

"Come on, let's move it," the armored man said.

The hurting man gave the armored man a strange look, then came and gathered the child into his arms. The armored man took a breath as if he was going to say something, then shook his head and turned away again, continuing the way they'd been going before.

The child squirmed and whined. He wanted the armored man to carry him. He didn't know the hurting man.

"Hush, _ashi," _the hurting man said softly. "It's all right."

The child didn't understand his words, but he could feel his feelings, his intentions. It came through clearer than the armored man ever did. He was safe with the hurting man, he knew. So the child wrapped his arms around the hurting man's neck, buried his face in his shoulder, and closed his eyes.

And before he drifted off to sleep, he could feel that the hurting man was hurting a little bit less.


	4. What Doesn't Kill You

_Chapter Four: What Doesn't Kill You_

Like Coruscant, all of Nar Shaddaa was blanketed in layers upon layers of metropolitan sprawl. But Coruscant's upper levels boasted gleaming spires, fresh air, and bright skies: home to the rich and powerful of the galaxy, they glittered with the decadent, artificial beauty of gentrified wealth. Only in its deepest undercity did the mirage fail. The lowest layers of the city languished in decay, befouled with pollution and rife with crime, a canker in the heart of the rose.

And where Coruscant ended, Nar Shaddaa began.

The _Razor Crest_'s trajectory had brought it plunging through the smog-choked atmosphere and down into the city itself, only the Mandalorian's expert piloting—and perhaps Arashu's guiding hand—keeping the ship from plowing directly into the crumbling buildings. The landing pad was riddled with cracks and gouges, only some of them from their near-disaster, and stained with only the Gods knew what. The warm, sticky air pressed in around them, and Thane coughed as the reek of organic and mechanical rot forced its way down his throat. He envied the Mandalorian his helmet, no doubt equipped with filters and rebreathers to keep the unwholesome atmosphere at bay.

There appeared to be no power to this section of the city. _Before it gets dark, t_he Mandalorian had said, but that statement seemed to be relative. Little artificial light, and even less sunlight, filtered through the layers of buildings above, and the way ahead lay in deep shadow. The occasional pair of eyes gleamed in the darkness, watching with varying degrees of menace, but always skittered away as the two men approached.

Thane was glad the baby slept. The squalling of a frightened child would surely draw unwanted attention, and might embolden whatever watched them from the dark.

Though he had never visited this moon before—and indeed had actively avoided it for the past eight years—he had heard of this place. The Dark Lands, people called it: an apt description, if lacking in imagination. Known to be dangerous and crime-ridden by even Nar Shaddaa's notoriously low standards, the Hutts had all but sealed it off from the Red Light Sector above so the activities here would not interfere with the… business… up there. The sapient population was sparse, skittish, and brutally cutthroat. Acquiring parts in this area would as likely involve a fight as a negotiation.

Thane eyed the Mandalorian with no small measure of apprehension. All that beskar he wore caught what little light made its way down here and threw it back in a dark silver gleam, all clean lines and smooth curves. It stood out even in the dimness, a beacon of unbelonging. Flaunting such wealth was dangerous even in the most civilized of places. Down here, it simply asked for trouble.

And indeed, as they made their way deeper into the city, the glimmer of eyes in the dark grew more and more numerous. Staring. Glaring. Animal growls rumbled out of open doorways. Whispers floated on the fetid air. And the scrape of shuffling feet began to follow them as they continued on.

Thane shifted his grip on the child to hold him with one arm. His other hand hovered near his blaster.

He sensed a presence behind them an instant before a voice hissed out of the darkness in sibilant, heavily accented Huttese.

"Well, ain't this sweet. A little family."

Both Thane and the Mandalorian drew their blasters as they spun around to face the voice. The Mandalorian switched on a light on his helmet to reveal a scarred Zabrak, leering at them with an avaricious grin. Broken teeth, broken horns, and broken nose spoke to a life spent glorying in violence. Ragged and filthy clothes stuck out from under ill-fitting, cobbled-together armor that looked like it would shatter under a well-thrown punch. His breath as he brought himself nearly nose to nose with Thane reeked of stale booze and sour disease.

"This what you Mandos look like under them buckets?" the Zabrak sneered. "What happened? You trade away one set of armor already?" He turned his grin at the Mandalorian. "Gimme yours, and maybe I'll let you keep yer little bundle there."

"Over my dead body," said the Mandalorian calmly. And before the Zabrak could react, he fired his blaster. The Zabrak was dead before he hit the ground. "Or yours."

The noise woke the child, who began to wriggle and fuss.

Holstering his own blaster, Thane eyed the body with a frown. "Was that necessary, Mandalorian?" he asked sharply. "He was unnamed, and no real threat to us."

"Down here, you gotta speak the language." The Mandalorian nodded toward the eyes that had watched the incident, and Thane glanced up to see many of them slinking away.

Kneeling beside the body, the Mandalorian began to search it. "Didn't expect you to have a problem with that, _assassin," _he added pointedly.

The child's fussing turned to wails, and Thane patted his little back gently. "Hush, _ashi," _he whispered. To the Mandalorian, he bit out, "Then it may surprise you to learn I am more than my profession."

The Mandalorian sat back on his heels and stared up at Thane for a moment, his face inscrutable behind his helmet. Then he pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. "This guy's got nothing of value on him," he said. "Let's keep moving."

* * *

The Mandalorian hung back a little as they walked silently on, watching Krios with the child. The sight of him in the assassin's arms had at first sent a surge of adrenaline through his veins and nearly had him reaching for his blaster. But when he'd seen how Krios had gently soothed the baby to sleep, how he cradled him so tenderly even in the midst of a confrontation… well, the Mandalorian still didn't trust him. But that was becoming more and more of a conscious decision.

The child certainly seemed to like him just fine. But then, the child seemed to like just about everybody—except, maybe, for Cara Dune. So he probably wasn't a great judge of character. He was just a baby, after all.

The way Krios handled him, though, was nothing if not… parental. A twinge of jealousy caught the Mandalorian off guard. _Haar'chak, _Krios even had a pet name for the kid.

"So, what does that mean, anyway?" the Mandalorian asked.

"Pardon?"

"That name you keep calling the kid. _Ashi, _or whatever."

"Ah." Krios glanced down at the child, once again calm and snuggled contentedly on his shoulder. "It is a term of endearment among my people. I suppose the nearest translation in Basic would be 'my shadow'—a holdover from when the Drell inhabited the deserts of Rakhana." He hesitated. "It… it's what I used to call my son."

"You have a son?" the Mandalorian demanded. _I didn't need to know that._

"Yes." Krios coughed into his fist, then looked back at the Mandalorian. "You're surprised by this." It was not a question, but an observation.

But before the Mandalorian could reply, Krios's eyes widened and a strangled noise escaped him. He swiftly and wordlessly handed over the child, then spun on his heel and began to walk away.

He made it no more than a few steps before a fit of coughing doubled him over. Deep and rattling and obviously painful, it seemed to be tearing him apart from the inside out. Bracing himself with one hand on a grimy, graffiti-covered wall, he seemed barely able to stand, or even breathe.

And not for nothing, but he was making an awful lot of noise. Some of the eyes that the Zabrak's death had frightened away were returning, slinking toward them through the shadows with predatory growls.

It seemed an eternity before the fit passed, and when it was over, Krios continued to lean against the wall, catching his breath. The child squirmed in the Mandalorian's arms, reaching his little hands out and cooing worriedly.

The Mandalorian took a few steps closer, but maintained a careful distance. If Krios was sick, he didn't want to risk catching it. Or worse, the kid.

"You okay, Krios?" he asked curtly. "We gotta keep moving. We're sitting mynocks out here."

Krios didn't answer the question directly, but only tipped his head noncommittally before straightening. "Time for me is short," he rasped, "but it will run out on my own terms. Let's go."

"Right," the Mandalorian muttered to himself. "'Cause that's not cryptic at all."

* * *

Sounds of violence and illness were not uncommon in the Dark Lands, Shyna Ilii had noted. This place was barely even habitable, sunk as it was in darkness and depravity. Nobody even tried to make a life here. They only hid here. Or became trapped here.

So the wails of an infant were all but unheard of in this place—which made tracking her quarry that much easier.

Shryna had been more than a little surprised that the Mandalorian would bring his stolen prize to Nar Shaddaa, of all places. She would have thought a fugitive from the Guild would have avoided it at all costs, but his suggestion that he had more than one bounty aboard his beat-up old rustbucket had begun to explain this little stopover. And that little stroke of luck had put him right smack in her crosshairs.

Of course, his blowing her ship out of the sky had been an extremely frustrating setback. But it had been a relatively simple matter to guide her cockpit-turned-escape-pod down to the moon's surface in the _Razor Crest_'s screaming, smoking wake. And upon catching up to him, she'd heard a name spoken that sent an avaricious thrill down her spine.

_Krios. _The Mandalorian had _Thane Krios _with him. The assassin had somehow managed to piss off every Hutt cartel in the Outer Rim, and the price on his head was huge. If Shryna could take down the Mandalorian, _and _get hold of both the Empire's asset and Thane Krios, she would be a rich woman indeed. She could retire back home on Shili in style and never have to crawl through skuggholes like this again.

Of course, that was a very big _if. _This would not be easy, even by the most tortured stretch of the imagination. Both the Mandalorian and Krios had fearsome reputations on their own; if they fought together, it would take nothing short of a miracle to defeat them. She had to get them separated, somehow.

Hanging back far enough to be out of earshot but close enough she could still sense their movement, she pulled out her commlink. "Grix? It's Shryna Ilii. I need to speak to Madura."

_"The Lady Madura is not at your beck and call, bounty hunter," _Grix replied haughtily. _"Tell me your message. She will respond—or not—at her pleasure."_

Shryna rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Just tell her I need some troops in the Dark Lands to capture a valuable bounty. Expendable troops. I'm transmitting coordinates now."

_"Oh? And why should the exalted Madura care about your bounty?"_

"Tell her the mark is Target 421. She'll know what that means."

From Grix's sharp inhale, she could tell that he knew, too.


End file.
